


Names

by plush_anon



Category: Strange Magic (2015)
Genre: Companionable Snark, F/M, Fluff, Meaning of Names, Middle Names, Or How to Avoid Putting the Bloody Things Together, Sweetness, Ticklish Spots, butterfly bog, wedding invitations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-04
Updated: 2016-03-04
Packaged: 2018-05-24 15:08:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6157609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/plush_anon/pseuds/plush_anon
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Is Misery actually your middle name?”</p>
<p>Wherein middle names are discussed, and wedding preparations are successfully avoided for another day. Fluff all the way, baby.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Names

“Is Misery actually your middle name?”

They were settled in the Glow Hollow, the two nestled together in a cozy hammock woven together with the luminescent strands. They had come here to work on addressing the wedding invitations in peace, casually tossing the finished envelopes over the edge once they were through assembling them. They would be waiting for the two at the bottom when they were done. 

Bog was sitting behind her, back pressed gently against her own as he hummed some off-kilter tune under his breath. He startled out of his haze. “Eh? What was that, dearie?”

Marianne twisted in place, peaking over his spiky shoulder. “I asked if your middle name was really Misery, or if you made that up to show off how evil and mean you are.”

He swatted at her with a wide and careless sweep of his arm, and she dug her elbow into his side in retaliation, laughing. He sniffed. “I’ll have you know that Misery is a very respectable name here in the Dark Forest. Better than something inane and flighty. Like Buttercup, or… or Sweetums, or whatever else you fluff-headed lot call yourselves.”

“Hey, I take offense to that,” Marianne poked at his back. “Take it back.”

“Yaagh! Quit tha-AHT, would you? S'Not fair!” Bog whined, as he tried to dodge her impetuous fingers. He picked up a pile of unaddressed envelopes and flung it over his shoulder. “Cheater!”

“Don’t give more of these to ME!” She flung the delicate narcissus stationary (Dawn AND Griselda's choice, of course) back at her thick-headed fiance, making sure to include more of her pile in the fray. “There, now we’re even.”

“Oh, we are now? Because MY pile seems to have grown, princess.” He pinched her side and snuck a fair few back as she yowled in protest. “Don’t try to distract me so you can get out of doing this quicker. It won’t work.”

Marianne pouted and stuck her tongue out. “Yeah, fine, okay. You still didn’t answer my question, you know.”

“Which was?”

“What’s your real middle name?” She looked back with a smile, and found it slipping away. “Boggy?”

His back was tense, and his fists were closed over the staff settled across his lap. Not clenched, or white-knuckled, just - closed. His head bent forward, so she couldn’t see his face, but his ear were tinged pink. He seemed - tense, or embarrassed, or maybe resigned? Marianne couldn’t quite tell. But he felt miserable to her. 

She ran a hand lightly down his back, and he shuddered at the sensation, releasing his breath and a mite of his tension. “Bog?”

“Do - will you - it - ” His fingers squeezed. “Promise not to laugh?”

“Yeah, I promise. And I won’t say a word to anyone, not even Dawn.”

Bog gnawed on the inside of his cheek, tapping his fingers along the amber globe of his staff. “It’s Alan.”

She blinked. “What?”

“I said it’s Alan, now can we - can we get on with this? I have things to do.” He started straightening the piles of mildly crumpled envelopes closest to him, pointedly looking away.

“Alan?”

“Yes, Alan, now get back to signing these stupid prissy envelopes.” Marianne tumped the side of his head, and he reared around. “What?”

She flicked his forehead. “Don’t be so huffy about everything. Alan’s a good name. Apt, too." 

Bog gaped at her, mouth silently opening and closing for several moments. When Marianne finally noticed, she snorted and gently nudged his jaw up with two fingers. "Don’t look so surprised. You really think I’d laugh at Alan? I’d be laughing harder if Misery actually was your middle name.”

Bog settled back against her, quieted for the moment. Then: “So what’s your middle name, then?”

Marianne groaned, and let her head thunk back against Bog. “If you laugh, I swear, all bets are off on using sweet spots in sparring. AND I’ll tell your mother that you said she could redecorate your bedroom however she pleased as a birthday present.”

“Oh c'mon, that’s not fair. It can’t be that bad. Not as bad as Alan, anyways.” She glared at him and he smiled back, completely unrepentant. “Out with it then. What is it?”

The fairy mumbled and huffed. “Fine, fine. It’s - mrhmsltemes.”

Bog raised his hand to his ear and cupped it. “What was that, tough girl? I didn’t quite catch it underneath all those spare syllables.”

“You are enjoying this way too much, Bog Alan King.”

“Ah, shush up and tell me already.” He grinned widely from ear to ear, and she rolled her eyes.

“It’s Mistletoe, Marianne Freakin’ Mistletoe. Happy now?”

He blinked in surprise. “What - mistletoe? Really?”

“Yes, really, Bog Alan King, my middle name is the country’s stupidest lovey-dovey Winter Solstice tradition, now get back to invitation signing.” The fairy flung a pen at his head, and was mildly disappointed to see him catch it before it hit. She scowled and turned away, angrily muttering under her breath as she nearly stabbed through the envelope. She looked up a few minutes later to see Bog staring at her, brow furrowed in confusion. “What?”

“Why on Balar’s earth do fairies use poison as part of their Winter Solstice celebrations?”

Marianne gaped at him. “I’m - I’m sorry, did you say poison?”

“Uh, yes? Mistletoe is one of the deadliest poisons in both the Forest and the Fairy Lands. When our armies go to war, we spread it on our blades and claws to cause additional damage. The leaves are also incredibly durable. We use them in winter for clothes and bedding. You’re really named after it?” She nodded slowly. “Well, lucky you then.”

Bog turned away to go back to his stack of stationary, while his bride-to-be sat there, jaw dropped. He mimicked her earlier actions by closing her mouth with a claw-tipped finger. “Don’t let the flies in, dearie.”

The explosion came a few seconds later.

“Seriously!?! Mistletoe is a weapon here, and at home it’s a poor excuse to kiss people at parties?! Ugggh, I can’t believe this…” Marianne fell forward, faceplanting into a pile of crinkled paper (Dawn was going to kill her for it later, but screw it). “We got the stupid end of the stick. And don’t you say anything!” She threatened a finger towards Bog, who had just opened his mouth to comment.

Instead, he closed it, and ruffled his fingers through her hair. “Wouldn’t dream of it, love. So,” he started, carefully focusing on displacing the pile of mail in front of him so as to least crumple it (Marianne may not care what Dawn would say, but when she teamed up with his mother, it was terrifying to behold), “what’s this kissing business to do with mistletoe about? Care to demonstrate, princess, or should we go back to sorting party mail?”

Marianne whirled around to face him with a wide smile, the mischievous glint in her eye the only warning offered up before she leapt upon him, sending spirals of mail floating down to the bottom of the hollow tree. After all, who was she to turn down any excuse NOT to fill out an endless pile of frilly invitations?

Needless to say, they didn’t finish much of anything that afternoon.

**Author's Note:**

> Small note: Alan is a name of British Scottish origin that’s actually supposed to mean “handsome".   
> I couldn't resist using it, and everyone knows why.
> 
> Also, Mistletoe means 'to surmount difficulties'. Thought it was apt.


End file.
